


Shiver

by sky_blue_hightops



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Endeavour Morse Whump, Gen, Hurt Endeavour Morse, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Whump, theyre basically brothers literally you cannot change my mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 17:17:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20911244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_blue_hightops/pseuds/sky_blue_hightops
Summary: Morse goes out alone to investigate a case. You'd think he'd know better by now.





	Shiver

Jakes sighed as the new snow crunching under his feet gave way to the muddy sludge beneath. "Any sign?" he called out to Strange. The other officer turned towards him, torch beam cutting sharply through the maze of leafless trees.

"Not yet," came the reply. Jakes had to squint to make out Strange's form amongst the darkness of the forest. Wytham Woods wasn't the most welcoming of places after nightfall, as evidenced by the murder of two young men here merely a few days ago. And of _course_ Morse had barreled out here on a whim, another one of his hare-brained ideas capturing his attention.

That had been six hours ago. Six hours of no sign of the detective constable.

Jakes returned his gaze to the ground, his own torch cutting patterns of light and shadow on the snow. He scanned carefully for any traces left by their wayward detective - a shoeprint here, a broken twig there - but no such luck.

Fifteen minutes passed. Fifteen minutes of Jakes's breath puffing in the cold air, fifteen minutes of his hands and nose going numb. They'd combed the stretch of woods on this side of the river's bank twice unsuccessfully.

The pair of policemen stood at the top of the hill overlooking the river, catching their breath. "I'll ring the nick, see if he's turned up there yet." Strange offered.

Jakes nodded, slouching a little deeper into his coat. "Alright. I'll start looking 'round the other side," he replied.

The woods across the river were even darker, less moonlight reaching the ground. Something about the way Jakes's footsteps sounded out amongst the trees made him instinctively hold his breath, a feeling of uneasiness creeping up his back.

He tread slowly, careful not to disturb the undergrowth, towards a small clearing several meters from the bank. Light snow continued to fall around him, dusting the ground with a fresh layer, and he wiped a few stray, melted flakes from his face. He didn't dare call out Morse's name, not very loudly. Not with the stillness in the air. With the feeling of being watched. He'd never liked the forest, much. Never would.

He broke into the clearing, pushing gently through a thicket of tall, dry bushes. Dotting the ground were several flat, smooth rocks. They almost looked like figures huddled on the ground, like -

One of them moaned softly and stirred.

"...Morse?" Jakes breathed, hesitating for just a moment before crossing the clearing and landing heavily on his knees at Morse's side. His clumsy fingers caught Morse's shoulder and tugged, rolling the man onto his back. "Hey. hey, wake up-"

He received another faint moan for his troubles. Jakes kept up a stream of curses, holding the torch between his teeth and using both hands to attempt to rouse the detective.

Morse's eyes slipped open, just for a moment, their blue glittering under the direct light of the torch. Bruises and cuts of various sizes covered his face, a cut above his eyebrow still beading blood. The bruises continued to stretch down his neck and under his collar - "Wait a second," Jakes mumbled around the torch, then took it back in hand. "Oi. Where's your coat?"

"Hn," Morse replied.

"Very helpful," Jakes muttered. He was reluctant to move Morse without knowing the extent of his injuries, but if he didn't get them some place warmer - or at least more sheltered - soon, there'd be consequences. Namely, the same kind of consequences that had already begun to turn Morse's fingers a dangerous purple-blue. He cursed again.

There really wasn't two ways about this. He gently pulled Morse towards a sitting position, and when there wasn't much of a protest (at least, not enough of one to suggest that he'd aggravated any seriously traumatic injuries), did his best to heave Morse up off the ground and into a fireman's carry. The other man groaned but didn't become any more lucid. Jakes took a deep breath, scanned the clearing once more for any clues he'd missed, before diving back into the forest.

The trek, albeit shorter now that he knew where he was going and how to get back, was long enough to give him time to clear his head. Who'd done this? Was it related to the case? How long had he been laying there, susceptible to the cold? His grip on Morse tightened, and he picked up the pace.

His teeth had begun to chatter by the time they reached the bank once more. The little water that remained at the bottom of the river had frozen solid - he had no worries about it holding their combined weight, but it _was_ slippery. He took one steady step, pausing before taking another. No use in getting them both knocks on the head, now.

Morse barely moved during the whole process, a dead weight in Jakes's arms (which were starting to burn, no matter how skinny the other man was). Jakes jostled him, hoisting him upwards for a better grip, and Morse whimpered faintly. "Sorry, sorry," he muttered, out of breath. "Almost there. You just _had_ to go and get roughed up, huh? And the middle of the night, too."

No answer. This was one of those few moments in which he wished Morse'd respond, incessant chatter filling the silence.

Snow crunched under his feet. Morse had stopped shivering. He walked even faster.

For the remainder of the walk back Jakes felt disoriented, the blackness of the night around them the same in all directions. He could barely feel his own arms, the thin coat he wore not nearly enough to protect against the freezing temperatures.

Maybe some weeks ago, he would've never come out here at all, would've insisted dryly the younger constable could handle himself. But now...well, he worried. And who wouldn't? Morse had wormed himself a spot in the nick as easy as ever. He was abrasive and defensive, sure, but it wasn't easy to look at him and the scrawny, determined shape he made without becoming...attached.

He had never had much real animosity against Morse, Jakes realized. It certainly rubbed him the wrong way how Morse'd just turned up one day and had taken a position as Thursday's bagman, and yes, the know-it-all attitude was annoying (little-brother-annoying, but he wouldn't admit that out loud even under the threat of death), but the kid was smart. He'd get far, given the right authority. He just needed experience.

And also, apparently, someone to come get him and keep him from dying alone in the woods.

Twin beams of light and the roar of the car's motor cut through the woods and his thoughts, and Jakes had to shield his eyes against the glare. Strange'd driven the car up from where they'd parked it down the road, and the aforementioned man stood behind the open driver's side door, waving. Jakes eyed the slope back up to the road and groaned, arms shaking. "Here- help me get him back up-"

Strange jogged down to Jakes and supported Morse's shoulders and torso while Jakes continued to hold his legs. Together (and with no small amount of wheezing on Jakes's part) they carried the unconscious detective up to the car.

"The heater's going already," Strange informed him. Jakes reached and opened one of the back doors, before helping Strange ease the body between them into the seat. "I haven't called the nick since just after we split up; should I call in for a doctor?"

Jakes had already slipped into the seat next to Morse, wrestling off his coat. "No, we just need to warm him up, he doesn't have many injuries. Hey, Morse?" He tapped his face. "Morse!"

But there was no rousing him. Jakes bit out a curse and finished freeing his arms from his coat sleeves. He was left with just his thin button-down shirt, but he didn't dare that little amount of protection off and risk freezing himself. Morse was limp, and easily manhandled so he was pressed close to Jakes. Strange, smart man, had already seen what Jakes was going for and draped Jakes's coat over the two of them, tucking Morse's hands under the fabric.

Whatever warmth Jakes was giving off was enough to make Morse stir just barely, his skin ice-cold to the touch and his breath shallow and chilled. Strange ducked out of the car to shed his own, heavier uniform jacket before laying it over them. Jakes pulled it up so it covered Morse's ears and neck.

"Should I head towards his flat?" Strange asked, sliding in the driver's side and closing the door. Jakes thought of the flat - cold, most likely; he knew the heating in Morse's building had broken, as it did every January - and then his own - the heating worked, but there was only one blanket to speak of.

"No, I've a better idea. Can you give the old man a ring?" Strange nodded in understanding and picked up the receiver.

Morse had begun to shift restlessly, pain lining his face. "C-cold," he stuttered, hands moving weakly against Jakes's collar. "Can't- can't-"

"Shut up, Morse," Jakes replied stiffly, rubbing the sides of his arms briskly. "Tuck up your hands against my neck- there you go. You already type slow enough, don't need you losing any fingers."

The detective seemed content to let Jakes talk, hands like icicles against Jakes's skin, leeching the warm out of his very bones. The car's heating had already warmed Jakes up enough from his adventure in the outdoors, but it seemed Morse still had some thawing out to do. He'd begun trembling once more.

Jakes wrapped his arms around him tighter, under the weight of the coats. "Trouble magnet," he grumbled. "You've really got to stop going off alone. Are you listening?"

Morse managed a nod, damp red hair brushing Jakes's chin. That'd do. He sighed. Bloody idiot.

"We'll get you to the Thursdays'," Jakes said quietly as Strange explained everything to the old man over the phone. "I'm sure Mrs. Thursday has a mountain of blankets to put you under and a good stew. You'll be good as new."

And as Morse's shivering lessened in intensity, and his eyes drifted shut and his breathing calmed, now just warm puffs against Jakes's collarbone, the other detective could finally relax. They'd found him in time. And here he was, safely tucked against Jakes.

Still. Bloody _idiot_.

**Author's Note:**

> i swear i'm not dead i literally came back to post this fic because this is what i'm obsessed with rn apparently


End file.
